


High Stakes

by SpellCleaver



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Gen, Vampire Hunters, still set in gffa though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 04:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30015804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpellCleaver/pseuds/SpellCleaver
Summary: The Jedi are vampire hunters, but since Luke saw Vader murder his teacher in front of him, he's not been a Jedi.  A run in with Vader on the planet of eternal night poses problems and revelations for the both of them.
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker/Zevulon Veers
Comments: 12
Kudos: 96





	High Stakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sorayume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorayume/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Jadey!!
> 
> I am shamelessly piggy-backing off of other great vampire AUs, such as [Jadey's](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28638405) and [Bixo's](https://thebixo.tumblr.com/post/635447174223872000/masterlist) (to name only two), but I'd wanted to try writing one for a while, so I hope you enjoy!

The industrial planet of Gorse glittered beneath them: one half blinding and molten, the other as dark as the depths of space, studded with lights. Its moon, Cynda, shone like a jewel beside it, large and luminous.

Luke stared out of the viewport of the _Jolly Jumper_ and tried to ignore the twist in his gut.

It was just the two of them in the cockpit as Luke guided them down into the docking port, so Zev leaned over to quip, half-concerned, "You look like you're two seconds away from yanking out a stake and driving it through the whole planet. Loosen up a little."

Luke took a deep breath. "I am not going to stake a planet. Or its moon."

"That's a _moon_?" Zev eyed Cynda. "I thought they were twin planets or something, they're the same size."

"No, it's a moon. Most of Gorse's industry comes from mining it."

"So most of Gorse's population spend most of their time underground, chipping at gems? Never seeing the sun?"

"Digging up thorilide, but yes."

"That sounds like a good hunting ground for," Zev glanced back at the door to the cockpit in case of rest of their crew hanging around, then whispered, "you know—"

"That's what concerns me," Luke said shortly. He didn't want to think about vampires. He hadn't had to deal with one since Ben had died—since Vader had _ripped out his throat_ —and he knew that if he ran into one by accident…

He wasn't ready.

And…

"I think Gorse is tidally locked," he found himself adding. "One side of it is always facing the sun, and is too hot for inhabitation. The other side—"

"Is in perpetual night." Zev swallowed. "Yeah, that sounds ideal."

"We're here on Rebel business. We just need to meet the contact and get the info promised. We don't need to—"

"But you have a few things prepared just in case, I bet." Zev's smile was knowing. "You're going to anyway."

Luke swallowed, glancing down. "I am not a Jedi. I am not going to go hunting vampires just because I think I'll find one."

"But you _are_ , though."

"No! Not since Ben died. I… I can't handle them on my own."

Zev watched him closely, for a moment. "I can't imagine you staying away."

Luke ground his teeth and didn't answer.

They were here for the Rebellion. That was it. He'd dedicated his life to helping the Rebellion since Vader had killed Ben, and he wasn't about to fail them now. They needed him, he needed them to succeed, and he was _not going to worry about this_.

Just… keep an eye out.

"Luke," Zev said, "did you ever find out how Vader died?"

Luke tensed up. "No, I didn't. But he's dead." The Empire had broadcast it publicly—the head of their armies, the armoured and masked monstrosity who led all their Inquisitors, was dead. No one in that armour had appeared anywhere in the galaxy since.

He was _dead_.

Ben's killer was dead.

If Luke clutched the controls a little too tightly as he led them in, if he constantly threw glances over his shoulder when they landed, Zev didn't mention it. He just put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Luke leaned into it gratefully.

* * *

The cantina they were supposed to meet their contact in wasn't too long a walk from the port and despite his poor grasp on it, the Force blared warnings at Luke every step of the way. The streets were torn up and battered, with broken paving slabs and rubble piled everywhere—probably from decades-old explosions of thorilide that no one had bothered to clean up. The lightning was harsh when you got close to it, strips of neon glowing suddenly and sharply out of the darkness, but the air was choked with dust and smoke. Luke felt it cling to him with every step.

They were in a rough area of Gorse, he knew—or rather, _rougher_ area of Gorse—but that just rose his hackles higher.

When he saw the cantina emerge from the darkness up ahead, thronged with crowds of staggering and jeering miners, cargo pilots, locals, he reached for Zev's hand and locked their fingers together. "I'm not gonna lose you in the darkness and this crowd."

Zev took it gratefully, with a smirk, and tugged Luke towards him so he could slip an arm around his shoulders. "I'm not about to lose you either."

Luke leaned his head against his shoulder for a moment, and smiled against his bicep.

Then they were into the cantina, and though it was hardly particularly bright in there, either, Luke still breathed in a sigh of relief at the improved air quality.

Manoeuvring around the dancing patrons, the waiters sailing past with trays laden with drinks, the stumbling staggers of those who'd had a few too many, they found the quiet booth, third from the corner, that they'd been told to meet the man in. Luke sat down for a moment, running his hands under the table—then wincing as he hit a scratched area and a splinter embedded itself in his finger.

He ignored it. He felt along the curves of the scratch, confirming it was the codeword he was expecting.

The sharp slashes for _K_ , then a zigzag bounce, then a horizontal line, some loops, and a collection of more straight lines, horizontal and vertical.

_KNIGHT_.

He nodded, and dropped his hand, picking out the splinter with his nails even as his mind whirred.

"You're the smooth one," Luke said. "You stay here and wait for them to show up. I'll get the drinks."

"Do _not_ get blue milk," Zev said immediately.

"I wasn't going to!" Luke, who had been intending to get blue milk, said immediately back.

Zev snorted. "Get two Trandoshan ales."

"I'm not gonna drink either of them," Luke warned.

"I know you're not, they're both for me."

It was Luke's turn to snort this time, but he acquiesced, standing from the booth. He leaned in to peck Zev on the lips—then at the last moment pecked him on the cheek instead, and whispered in his ear, "Fine, but you're paying."

Zev huffed, and Luke strode off.

It took no less than three tries to get the bartender to notice him, and even then he was treated to a gaze so intense and sceptical that he was sure he was about to be asked for ID, even in as lawless an establishment as this. But eventually the bartender sighed, eyed his clothing—a worn, roughed up pilot's jumpsuit, worn to blend in with the locals, and a small knapsack slung over one shoulder—then asked, "What do you want, kid?"

"Two Trandoshan ales, please," he said.

"Size?"

"Small." He wasn't going to deal with Zev with any larger.

The bartender turned away and less than a minute later Luke was navigating back through the crowd—he thought he saw a flash of ivory out the corner of his eye and jerked his head around, but it was just a Twi'lek woman dancing, throwing her head back and baring her teeth in laughter—before he reached the booth again and slammed the drinks down on the table.

"There you go, you greedy—"

He cut himself off when he realised Zev wasn't looking at him.

He looked dazed instead—a little out of it, hazel eyes glazed over in something unsettlingly like desire or fascination—and he was staring at something over Luke's shoulder.

Luke turned to follow his gaze, through the writhing bodies and the sweet smoke and the pounding, flashing lights. On the other side of the room, in a booth mirroring theirs, was a man lounging on the seat with his feet on the table.

The Force whooshed and whispered at the back of his mind, between his shoulders, like a stiff, chilly breeze heralding the heavy clouds.

The man was pale skinned: pale enough that he seemed to change colour with every pulse of colour: red, blue, green, amber, pink, purple, magenta, green, white. His hair was shorn close to his head, a strange gold-bronze colour that was difficult to discern, and he wore all black. Not necessarily in a fashionable way, though it didn't look bad on him; it was a simple, two-piece suit, not unlike the black outfit back in Luke's quarters at base that Lando had given him the month before, and it looked more tailored towards ease of movement than style.

Luke glanced back at Zev, who was still staring, enthralled. He even tried to stand up, to walk over, but Luke put his hand on his chest and force him back down again.

"Zev, snap out of it."

Zev didn't respond to his voice, so Luke… dug into the Force, just a little bit, and pressed against his mind, wiping it clean like a slate. Zev blinked and stared.

"Luke?"

"Idiot," Luke said affectionately. "Here's your drinks." Then he turned back to the man.

His stint with the Force seemed to have got the vampire's attention—instead of lounging comfortably, staring into space, he removed his feet from the table and made to look at Luke directly, gold eyes narrowed.

Luke gasped when he saw his face head-on.

_Luke, run!_

_Luke!_

_Luke!_

He blinked, slowly. The face didn't change. It was precisely the same: same scar, same cleft chin, same nose, but suddenly it was grinning with long, vicious teeth bared, the mandibles of the mask around it, and blood splattered his face.

Then Luke blinked, and they were staring at each other through the haze of the cantina again, and Ben was three years dead.

The vampire— _Vader?_ —very slowly stood from his seat, dusted off his suit and walked away, leaving a glass stained reddish on the table behind him. One blink later, he'd vanished behind the knot of dancing patrons.

Luke clenched his jaw and murmured to Zev, "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Zev's eyebrows creased in worry.

"I'll be right back. Stay here and chat up our contact if they get here before I return. Don't drink too much."

"That doesn't answer my question!" Zev called after him, but Luke slipped into the crowd and was gone.

As he stalked through, his hand slipped into the pocket of his jumpsuit—and fastened around the wooden stick in there. He was glad he'd had the foresight to bring a stake, even if it was only one, and the few bulbs of blessed water he had left. It was harvested from spots holy to the Jedi, like Ilum and the underground caverns of Jedha and even, according to Ben, from some of the reverse waterfalls he'd encountered on Mortis, where the water flowed up instead of down.

Most of those areas had been pillaged and guarded and bled dry since the undead Emperor had risen to power—him and his army of bloodsucker Inquisitors—but he had a few precious resources left. He moved one or two of the bulbs to his trouser pockets.

In case he really, really needed them.

It was too dim and dusky to tell where Vader had gone, so Luke dared to reach out with the Force to gauge his presence. It was well-shielded, wherever he was—and he undoubtedly now knew that Luke was coming after him—but he thought he sensed a flicker coming from behind the bar… A dark shadow, a spot of cold, a black hole…

He moved back there. Past the toilets, where he could hear the distinct sound of someone vomiting. Past the couples in a dark corner. With Luke open to the Force, the thick emotions in the room suddenly made for a heavy, heady mixture; it stuffed his nose and ears and he tried to think straight through it.

No wonder the vampire liked it here.

Luke kept moving, refusing to consider whether or not hunting _Vader_ , the apparently-not-truly-dead head honcho of the Empire's vampiric forces, was a good idea.

There were several large storage rooms at the back—an employee break room, a cleaning closet, an alcohol cellar too. He could sense Vader up ahead… _somewhere_ … but something still made him pause in front of the break room, heart hammering.

He twisted the doorknob and went in, shutting the door behind him.

He should have locked it behind him, but perhaps that wouldn't have changed anything.

After a moment—his senses _screaming—_ he stepped forwards in the dark. Nearly tripped over something. Reached down, patting the floor, then the obstacle…

It was the soft flesh of an arm.

The Force blared in warning.

There was a whisper behind him; he spun, instinct shoving his hand into his pocket then out as darkness unfurled like wings and he _threw_ the bulb of holy water like a water balloon.

It collided with his attacker's chest, exploded, and they let out a truly dreadful screech, carving furrows in his head that pounded with pain. He ignored the blaring agony and smacked the light switch, watching the yellow strips above them stutter to life to reveal—

A tall, thin, golden-eyed Mirialan, spotted tattoos dark and stark across his milky face. The holy water had connected with his chest, splashed up to scald his lips and eyelids; his mouth was open, his fangs clear to see, one eye scrunched shut and swollen red from the water.

Luke didn't hesitate. He lunged forwards with a cry, yanking out the stake and driving it into the vampire's heart. They collided with one of the chairs, the vampire's back _thwacking_ against the arm, and Luke fought to catch his footing and hold it.

The vampire lashed out with his claws, scraping blood from Luke's arms and shallows cuts on his chest, but then he went still.

That was… suspiciously easy.

Luke took a deep breath, and stood up, his hands bloody. He left the stake in his chest.

What was an Inquisitor doing here?

Was he with Vader?

A bad feeling prickled along Luke's neck, again, and he turned to look at the body he'd nearly tripped over.

It was a Twi'lek woman, with orange skin and one hand crumpled into a fist. She wore the clothing of one of the waitresses who worked here, and stared right past Luke, brown eyes unseeing.

Two bloody spots in her necks betrayed what had happened.

She matched the description of their contact exactly.

Luke swore.

"That was why the Inquisitor was here, then," he said softly. He crouched down to close her eyes, as gently as he could manage. "Rebel activity…"

"That Inquisitor was not here for your petty Rebel contact. Nor was he here for you."

In the silence that followed the sudden, unwelcome words, Luke heard the distinctive _click_ of a lock.

He turned around slowly to see Vader smiling down at him, teeth on full display.

"You look familiar, boy," he said. "Have I hunted you before?"

"I doubt I'd still be alive if you had," Luke shot back. Anger thrummed through him, just as much as fear— _this was the monster who had killed Ben._

Vader laughed. "Indeed, you would not be."

He circled Luke like prey. Luke tried to take the chance to sidle closer to the locked door, but Vader noticed, and cut him off. Luke closed his hand around the other holy water bulb in his pocket—his last one.

"Still. You do look so _very_ familiar…"

Luke just narrowed his eyes at him.

Vader glanced down at the corpse of the Inquisitor—the stake still in his chest. "You are a trained hunter—well, partly, pathetically trained—which narrows it down."

Luke said nothing. He tried to seize the Force and fiddle with the lock on the door. After a moment, there was the distinctive _click_ ; it was open.

But now Vader was glaring at him, and Luke was sure he'd remembered.

_"Kenobi's_ apprentice," he hissed, and Luke bolted.

He didn't get far. Vader slammed him against the very door that he was grappling for, so hard his back bruised, his teeth inches from his neck.

"I have been looking for _you_ —"

Luke got up the stake in his hand and poised it at Vader's chest, pushing—

Vader backed off. But there was a tug on Luke in the Force, and he was dragged along the floor, away from the door, before he could break it and get back to his feet.

"And I thought you were _dead_ ," he spat, spinning the stake in his hand and holding it up, ready to strike. "I'm not happy to see I was wrong."

Vader scoffed. "That was a lie spread by Palpatine in an attempt to disguise my betrayal. All the better for it: I can move freely." He shot forwards, a hand crashing towards Luke's face with five vicious-looking claws lashing out. They raked across Luke's cheek; not deep, but blood welled in his mouth and he spat it in Vader's face.

Vader just smiled.

"Your _betrayal_?" Luke asked, stepping sideways, painstakingly carefully. "I thought you killed all the Jedi, you were so loyal to that corpse."

"I—"

Luke leapt forwards, then, and tried to force Vader back. He didn't have use a vampiric weapon, didn't want to throw away his last stake, but he _did_ use his knife, and it embedded itself in Vader's chest up to the grip.

Vader hissed, eyes wide, and slashed out again in response, but Luke dodged away, leapt onto the sofa to inch closer to the door.

There was the chair the Inquisitor was thrown against, there was the Inquisitor; maybe he could—

Vader lashed out again but Luke leapt to the side. Stuffing puffed from the ripped sofa. Luke ignored it, edged closer to the chair—

—and seized it with the Force.

When Vader snatched back his balance, pivoted to lunge at him again, he was met with a face full of chair. Luke grinned, leapt off the sofa towards the door—

Only, the chair didn't hit. Vader dodged aside so fast Luke's eyes couldn't process it, the blood flying from his knife wound to splatter on the chair leg. Almost dismissively, he batted at it with his claws.

Either from the force of it or the sharpness, it collided with the wall and shattered into pieces.

Luke fell on the door, grabbed the doorknob—

But Vader ripped the knife out of his chest and threw it.

It whistled over Luke's head by mere millimetres, snipping off a few stray hairs, and sinking deep into the door and doorframe.

Luke tugged at the door. No.

No, it was stuck, no—

He dived aside as Vader stalked for him again, on his feet, moving around, but he had always had the disadvantage in this tiny room and that was not changing with the door shut tight.

And Vader knew it.

He shot out a hand to seize him by the throat, pinning him to the wall; Luke pushed back, twisting away and shoving so hard Vader winced, then he thrust out a hand to drag a lunged—

And missed Vader's heart with his stake by a few sorry inches. It slid off his ribcage, towards the side, towards him arm, and then Vader backhanded him so hard he went flying.

"I appreciate the game, boy, but I'm not longer amused." Vader took the stake and snapped it in his hands.

Luke swallowed.

"This is it."

Vader came at him again, faster than he could see, but something from Luke's own training, something from the Force, must have _finally_ deigned to kick in because he moved _faster_ , and was gone by the time Vader reached him.

He was next to the ruins of the chair, in fact, and the four wooden sticks—

Luke seized two in his hands, rising to his feet. Vader whipped around and glared at him.

Over his shoulder was a poster advertisement for a bowling alley down the road, Luke noticed. Everything suddenly seemed so vivid.

He swung one of the stakes at Vader and heard a satisfying _crack_ first, before a white, veined hand closed around it and yanked it from his grip.

That makeshift stake crumbled into splinters as well.

"This is a _waste of time_."

"I—"

Luke stopped.

He… stopped talking.

Stopped breathing.

He— he couldn't _breathe_ —

"Hunting can be more fun without the advantage of the Force." Vader let him go, and Luke dropped to his knees, the stake rolling out of his hand. "I would assume that was why you forgot it was at your disposal as well, but considering your choice of opponents that would shed a negative light on your intelligence; I'll simply assume you were out of practice, then."

He yanked Luke up by the collar. Luke slowly raised his eyes to meet his, and he had to look above the long, wicked teeth first.

Oh, Force.

_Oh, Force._

Why had he come back here? Why had he come looking for Vader?

What had he done?

He was going to die here—

In a sudden moment of crystal desperation, he bucked in Vader's grip, tried to kick him, tried to fight back, but the grip on his shoulders was unbreaking. Vader bruised his collarbone with one hand, then with the other he made to tear away the neck of the jumpsuit he was wearing and—

He froze.

Stopped moving.

A low growl escaped his throat, which froze Luke right where he was too.

"Where," Vader demanded, plucking at the cord around his neck, the japor snippet mounted on it, "did you get _this_?"

His parents' necklace.

No—

Luke tried to tear out of the grip again, and this time he succeeded; Vader's grip was slack with shock. But Vader kept his hand twisted around the necklace cord and it broke off, leaving the snippet dangling as Luke put as much distance between them as possible.

His last makeshift stake was at Vader's feet, still, he realised. He— he could—

Vader put his foot firmly on the stake before he could summon it to his hand, and bit out, "Where. Did you. Get this."

"None of your business."

"Oh really?" He stalked forwards, cape flaring out, and Luke scrambled to get away. He nearly tripped over the Twi'lek's body again and wanted to be sick.

Vader… paused. Studying him—the curve of his nose, the flush and dimple in his cheek, his chin, the neon light off his hair.

"I will ask one more time," he said lowly. "Where did you get this?"

"And I'll tell you one more time. _It's none of your business_."

Vader's fists clenched, one of them around the snippet… then he relaxed, and smiled. It didn't seem genuine, but didn't seem wholly vicious, and Luke had no idea what to make of it.

"If it's unimportant to you or to me, then, I suppose there's no further need for it." And he closed his hand around it, squeezing tightly enough that Luke could hear the wood buckling.

"No—"

Vader opened his palm again. The japor snippet was still intact—mostly. "No?"

Luke said nothing.

"If you want this back in one piece, you will tell me where you got this."

"I…" He trailed off.

The hand closed again.

"No! Wait!"

Vader didn't bothering opening his hand; just tilted his head in question.

"I…"

He swallowed. Vader scowled impatiently. "I grow tired—"

"It was my mother's!"

Luke sucked in a deep breath. Vader tilted his head further. "Oh?"

"It was my mother's," Luke said again. "Or, my father's. He made it for her."

Vader narrowed his eyes, but not necessarily in a threatening way. "Your name?"

Luke shook his head. "That's not relevant."

"Your _name_. Now."

"Give it _back_."

He held out his hand, but Vader made no move to return it. "Not until you tell me your name."

"What the hell are you playing at?"

"Answer the question, boy."

Luke swallowed.

Vader didn't seem as murderous anymore. He seemed… he didn't know. He didn't know. He didn't even know if he liked it more than the murderousness.

"Give me your name," Vader said softly, "and I will give you it back. Is that so wrong?"

Luke stared at the snippet.

"If you do not, I will destroy it."

His heart hammered in his chest.

But—

But—

But—

That was all he had left of his parents.

So…

"Luke," he said.

Vader didn't seem satisfied. "Your full name?"

Luke scowled. "Luke Skywalker."

Vampires did not need to breathe, but Vader's chest hitched nonetheless.

He smiled. Luke had no idea what to make of that smile.

And then he put the japor snippet in his pocket. "Thank you."

"What!?" Luke stormed forwards. "You said you'd give it back—!"

Vader caught his chin in one strong hand, examining his face. "Why would I?" he parried. "You said yourself: it's mine."

"What—" Luke turned his face, tore himself free of the grip, and stared up at Vader.

Suddenly, he noticed things he hadn't before.

The chin.

The hair.

The shape of the eyes.

Obi-Wan had always refused to tell him what had happened to his father.

"You…" Luke's brain had stopped like a broken train. "What?"

"I thought you were dead," Vader said, still staring at him hungrily—though a different sort of _hungrily_ to what Luke was used to from vampires—"my son."

Luke backed away. "And I thought _you_ were dead." He hesitated. "I guess one of us was right."

Vader scoffed. "The sanctimonious judgement of a Jedi."

_"What_ —"

"My son," Vader murmured, stepped forwards again to cup his cheek. "You are alive."

And then, again, voice cracking slightly—"You are alive."

Luke stood paralysed as arms went around him, warm and solid.

And his eyes were blurred with tears.

"Father?" he whispered, leaning into the embrace. He shakily brought his arms up to hug him back, and Vader squeezed him tighter; so tight he thought he might not breathe. "You— I— How—"

"Shh."

" _How?_ What happened? Why are you a _vampire_ —why are you _Vader_!?" Words spun on a carousel in his mind: betrayal, Vader reported dead, Obi-Wan being cut down by Vader in front of him, the hunt he'd just experienced himself, every cautionary tale he'd ever learnt about vampires—

"You will understand," Vader promised. "Soon."

"But—"

_"Sleep."_

Luke crumpled.

* * *

Vader caught him as he went down, and stared.

Of course.

Of course Obi-Wan had stolen his son from him.

Of course he had been the apprentice who'd watched him kill his master.

Luke was vastly out of practice in vampire hunting, if that fight had been anything to go by. Vader tossed the dead Inquisitor a look and snorted.

He imagined Luke had not fought a vampire since Obi-Wan's death.

But he should not have come to Gorse if he had been looking to avoid them.

Vader lifted Luke into his arms, and strode for the door.

Palpatine would be looking for him still—he knew his old apprentice was not dead, and he knew he would be wreaking havoc; the Inquisitor sent to Gorse to look for him was evidence enough of that—so he could not stay long. And Luke would not be staying either. His ship was large enough for two.

Perhaps Luke would be upset about leaving his… companion… behind, but he would get over it. If it was meant to be, they would find a way back to each other, the way Anakin and Padmé had; if it was not, it was best to be rid of him sooner rather than later.

And for now, Vader would not tolerate any distractions.

Let the Rebellion have their contact. Let them have whatever victories they wanted. He would have his son—and together, they would kill the Emperor.

Vader glanced down at the shattered stakes on the ground.

First, though, he mused wryly, he would have to reteach Luke how to fight.

He was looking forward to it already.


End file.
